I sat.
“I read it in the morning papers,” he said. “I tried contacting you.”
“I haven’t been answering my cell phone,” I said.
He waited. I stared around the familiar office. It looked the same. It was bare, but homely. I clearly remembered the times I had come in and had long talks with the sergeant. He always tried to solve my problems.
Now I had a problem. I said, “I kind of screwed up.”
He waited.
“And I was hoping if I could…”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “You can come back whenever you want. I’ll talk to Sergeant Aldrich and we could arrange for your transfer back.”
Sergeant Motley didn’t even ask how I had screwed up. He knew what I wanted and he was there to provide it.
“But not now,” I said.
“Whenever you are ready,” he answered.
“Business good at my route?” I said, inquiring about my old shift.
“Not as good as it used to be,” he smiled.
I got up. “I have to go.”
He opened a drawer and pulled out a white envelope. “All the guys chipped in to help you get through.” He handed it to me.
The envelope was thick and bulky. Without looking inside, I placed it in my pocket.
“Thank you, sir.”
I closed the door and found Roberta standing in the hall. Without saying a word she hugged me. “Jon, I’m so glad you’re okay.”
I nodded, feeling like a wounded warrior.
“Do you want to talk?” she asked.
I nodded.
We went to a deli across the street. A few minutes of silence had passed when she said, “Do you want to tell me everything?”
I nodded and told her exactly what had happened. She didn’t understand most of it but she didn’t interrupt me.
“I’m glad you are not hurt,” she said when I had finished.
I leaned back and rubbed my temples. “I don’t know what to do. This has been the worst time of my life. It’s all happened so fast. This is not what I had expected my life to be. I’m homeless, Roberta.”
“Don’t say that,” she said. “At least you’re alive.”
“You know, what I don’t understand is why would they put me, the guy who gives tickets, on a so-called major drug team. On top of that, I don’t understand how come no one has heard of RACE.”
“What’s RACE?”
“Exactly. Radical Association of Criminal Ethnicities. Have you ever heard of it? No. Even Joey had never heard of it, and he was working with them. Cal Murray didn’t know who we were talking about when we were at the House of Jam. Only people who actually thought this so-called group existed were Aldrich and Beadsworth. And…” I stopped. I went silent.
“Jon?” I heard her say.
I was staring at the table. I was trying desperately to remember everything that had happened. Exact words, certain body movements, precise images, they were now all important to me.
I looked up. “I have to go.”
“Jon, are you okay?”
“I’m glad we had this talk,” I said and walked out of the deli. I needed fresh air. I needed to recollect and reprocess everything in my mind. So much I had ignored before was so important now.
I stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk.
No. I couldn’t start making any conclusions until I was certain. I needed to start at the beginning.
TWENTY-FIVE
The first batch of Nex did not turn out as planned. The ingredients reacted negatively to the process. The combination had to be precise. After being frozen, the tablets formed a glassy solid, and once dried, the structure collapsed. Another batch was prepared immediately.
I knocked and a black kid opened the door. He looked at me attentively and then another, much taller kid, came rushing over.
“Theo, I told you never to open the door,” said the older one.
“Hey, Voshon,” I said.
I was back in Regent Park.
Voshon looked at me with searching eyes, “You’re the guy with Officer Beadsworth.” He stuck his head out into the hall. “Is Officer Beadsworth coming?”
“No, I came alone. Can I talk to you?”
“Yeah, sure, come in.”
The apartment was pretty much empty, except for the sofa and a few other items.
“You moving?” I asked.
“Yeah, we got a place on Chester. One bedroom only, but the rent’s good.”
“I need some information,” I started. “Has anyone suspicious come by here lately? I mean in Regent Park?”
“In Regent Park everyone’s suspicious,” he said, smiling.
I waited.
“Hey, man,” he said. “I don’t know nothing. You learn to mind your own business.”
“When you moving?” I said.
“We’ll be gone in a couple of days.”
“Then you won’t mind helping me out,” I said.
He looked away. He looked at his little brother. “What’re you looking for?”
“Anything,” I said.
“There is this guy,” Voshon said scratching his head. “Wears a large fur coat-even in the summer-tries to act like he owns the place. If anyone knows anything it would be him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Marcus, I think.”
“Where do I find him?”
“I see him coming in and out of the building over there.” Through the window I saw a brown building.
“Will he be there now?”
“Hey, I wouldn’t go there alone. He usually has a bodyguard with him.”
My mind started churning. I could stake out the building. Wait for this Marcus to come out…but then what?
I couldn’t just walk up to him and say, “Hey, man. Have you been part of anything illegal or unlawful? If so, can you tell me where I can find RACE?”
I knew it wouldn’t be that easy.
I thanked Voshon and left.
I stood across from the brown building, thinking hard. How was I going to get to him with the bodyguard hovering around? How then was I going to make him talk?
I had no clue.
It was afternoon and the area was pretty much deserted, except for a couple of moms pushing strollers and chatting away. They were coming in my direction so I decided to leave.
Walking west, towards Parliament, I had an idea. Not a very bright idea-but an idea. I searched through my pockets for the number for Mahmud Hanif. I called him and, luckily, he was just north of Danforth, dropping off a passenger.
Ten or so minutes later a taxicab drove up. I got in the back.
“Hey, Mahmud,” I said patting him on the shoulder. “Good to see you.”
“Always good to see you, too,” he said smiling. I swear this man smiled too much.
“How’s business?” I asked.
“Good. I’m very sorry what happened to your house. I heard it on the news.”
I just shrugged, not knowing what to say.
“If you need a place to stay…”
“I’m fine.”
“If you need any money…”
“No, really, I’m fine.”
“If you need anything…”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do need something from you.”
“Yes.” His face became eager.
“I need your taxi.”
There was a pause and then a cry. “I understand.”
“Understand what?” I said confused.
“Don’t worry, Officer Rupret,” he said reassuringly. “I know people that can help you.”
“Mahmud,” I said. “What are you talking about?’
“You don’t need to drive taxi. You’re still a young man. Driving taxi is not good.”
“But…”
“I will call Lateef-he works downtown-a good man,” Mahmud said. “He will help you find a job.”
“I don’t need a job,” I nearly yelled.
“What?” he replied, eyeing me through the rear-view mirror. “You can’t make money without a job?”
I started to laugh. “You think I want your taxi because I need money?”
He slowly moved his head up and down. “That is why I drive taxi. Why else?”
“It’s for my investigation.”
After a brief pause a smile crossed his face. “You want to go undercover. Yes?”